


Hands Held High

by evergreen_melancholy



Series: Memories of a Touch [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Bribery, Gambling, Kidnapping, M/M, Marco beats up thugs, Plot Twists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evergreen_melancholy/pseuds/evergreen_melancholy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mario might die, it's sort of Marco's fault, and neither of them knows what to do. Part 1 of the 'Memories of a Touch' verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands Held High

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of the 'Memories of a Touch' verse. First time writing these boys, so I apologize if I (most likely) butcher them up.

Title: Hands Held High

Summary: Mario might die, it's sort of Marco's fault, and neither of them knows what to do. Part 1 of the 'Memories of a Touch' verse.

Rating: PG-16 

Warnings: Violence, sexual themes, cussing. Plot twist. 

Disclaimer: fake fake fake this is just fiction. 

 

*

 

They came for him in the middle of the night.

 

Mario was on his way home from a game; one lonely night were Marco had an emergency and couldn't accompany him home. That, probably, was what started everything. Mario was distracted, still wishing for Marco's touch, and he didn't notice the men standing out his door.

 

They grabbed him, slammed his head against his own door, and everything went black.

 

*

 

"Marco Reus, purposely lose the game tomorrow. We will pay you a heavy sum of money," the man in black said. Marco just blinked back at him. 

 

"What?" Marco couldn't believe his ears--he'd heard of bribes and illegally gambling before, but never has actually seen it himself. Until now. 

 

"We are asking that you interfere with your game tomorrow so that your team will lose," the man says simply. And then he pushes an envelope into Marco's hands. "Please call at this number if you agree."

 

The man turns to leave, but Marco rolls up the envelope and tosses it to him. 

 

"Sorry, buddy, but no way in hell am I throwing the game," Marco says, and walks away. It's true, no way was he throwing the game, not when every time he made a goal Mario celebrated with him--every goal meant Mario's arms around him, Mario's nose pressed into the crook of his neck, Mario--

 

Marco heads home, and takes a shower to forget about the illegal gambling. He jerks off in the shower and comes with Mario's name on his lips.

 

*

 

_Of course_ they win the game, and for a while Marco forgets about the gamble, because he's just too happy at the moment. He has a smile plastered on his face and he doesn't care about anything else, just stares hard at Mario's ass because _damn_ , that ass will be his tonight.

 

That is, until he gets a phone call about his mother getting stabbed and mugged, and Marco has to rush over. Mario offers to come with him, but Marco refuses. They're both tired.

 

"Go home and have a nice, long, shower," Marco says, and presses a kiss against Mario's forehead. "Sleep first, I'll come back later, Liebe."

 

"But you won't be there to join me," Mario whispers against Marco's ears. Marco just pulls him away and looks him in the eye. 

 

"Keep that up, Liebe, and I'll take you in the shower _right now_."

 

Mario simply pouts, but nods, and hugs Marco closely. 

 

"I just feel like," Mario says, "I won't see you again. Are you going to come back?"

 

And Marco nods, but he feels it too. A dread. 

 

He distracts himself by pushing Mario against the nearest locker, and they collide in a hard kiss. And then Marco leaves and Mario leaves, both making a promise to come back no matter what.

 

But it's Marco that gets hit with an immense amount of dread when he gets to Mario's house, sees blood on the door, and a note next to the knob. 

 

It's a familiar number. 

 

Marco feels like he's going to throw up.

 

*

 

Mario wakes in a cold room with colder water splashed to his face. He can't see shit, his head feels like shit, and the room smells like shit and everything is shit at the moment. He adjusts to the dim lighting, and looks around to see three men in black suits in front of him. One of them step up to him, and slaps him awake--it's not a hard slap, but still strong enough to sting, and Mario winces.

 

"Mario Götze," the man says. "Do you know why you are here?"

 

Mario shakes his head, has something clever to say, but shuts up when he sees that the other man has a fucking _taser_ in his hand. 

 

"You can thank your friend Marco Reus," the man says, before leaning in and sneering in Mario's face. "Or should I say, boyfriend?"

 

Mario pales, but holds himself steady. "What are you talking about? We're friends," Mario says, and tries to control his voice. The man simply laughs, and motions for one of his accomplices to hand him an envelope. He takes out three photos and displays them in one hand, and confidently shoves them in Mario's face. 

 

Mario swallows. The first photo is him and Marco at the beach, floating a little _too close_ to each other, the water clear, with Mario's legs wrapped around Marco's waist. The second photo is worse; they're cuddling and the photo is obvious with Marco's hands so close to Mario's ass. 

 

Mario doesn't even want to look at the third photo, he looks at the floor, but the man shoves the photo in his face and Mario looks up, and oh god, _how the fuck did they even get that photo?_

The third one is probably the worst one, and the most embarrassing one. They're lounging near Marco's pool, Marco's on top of him, hands on his hips, tongue in his mouth, and Mario's trunks half off his legs.

 

Mario's throat goes dry. The man simply laughs, and takes Mario's chin in his dirty hands, and looks him straight in the eye.

 

"We bribed Marco Reus to throw your last game for us," the man says, venom dripping along his voice. "But of course if he did, you wouldn't be here." 

 

The man tugs on Mario's shirt, and reveals a large hickey slightly below his collarbone, and smirks at it.

 

"Faggot football players," the man cackles. "The media is going to love this! You can blame it all on your 'friend', Götze!"

 

Mario's eyes darken and he glares at the man. "Marco will never throw football in with you idiots," Mario yells. "Never, ever!"

 

But the man only smiles. 

 

"There's other ways to make him throw the game, Götze," and Mario doesn't like the smile on his face at all. 

 

"Smile for the camera, sweetheart."

 

And then Mario feels the stabbing of a tazer into his back and everything is a searing, electric pain, and everything goes black again. 

 

The last thing he remembers is a camera flash.

 

*

 

Marco paces around Mario's house, not sure of the situation at hand--he has the number inputted into his phone, and he's not sure whether to call it or not--but he's sure that whatever happened with Mario had to do with that man from before.

 

"Fuck," Marco says, and bangs his fist against the wall. He presses 'call' on his phone, hears it ring twice, and finally someone picks it up. The voice is still the same as before, and in an instant, Marco is pissed. 

 

"Hello, Marco," the voice says. "You finally called! I'm glad."

 

"What the fuck do you want? Where the fuck is Mario, I know you guys had something to do with it!" Marco keeps his voice steady, if he sounds panicked, they'd take him for sure.

 

"Ah ah ah, so impatient, Mr. Reus. Trust me, your dear friend is perfectly fine--" 

 

Marco hears a scuffle on the other side of the phone, hears the squeak of a shoe hit something hard, and hears Mario's painful groan. 

 

Oh, _fuck no_. 

 

"What do you want from me?" Marco almost trembles over the phone, but doesn't. He needs to be strong. 

 

"I want you to make your team lose," the man says simply. "Lose, or you will lose your little Liebe."

 

There's a loud noise in the background, and Marco hears Mario scream again, this time louder--and he's about to lose it, when he can hear Mario sobbing and shouting, trying to get Marco to hear him. 

 

"MARCO, DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE LOSE--don't you DARE, I'm fine okay I swear I'm--ugh--DON'T LOSE. DON'T DO IT FOR ME," Mario practically half screams, and it really tugs at Marco's heart. 

 

"Shut up," the man says, and Marco hears a few more noises and then Mario is silent. 

 

"He's a feisty one," the man says to Marco, and laughs over the phone. "Marco, the choice is yours--pay the price, or Götze will pay it for you. With his life."

 

"Fuck you," Marco says, because he really can't say anything else.

 

"No thanks, I despise fags," the man says, and cackles again. "You should also check your email, Mr. Reus. The details are included in. Until you lose, Mario will be contained here."

 

And then he hangs up, and all Marco has to hold on to is the haunting dial tone, reminding him that this is really fucking real.

 

And Mario might _die._

 

*

 

Mats chokes on his water, Bastian actually looks and shows surprise, and Miroslav rises to his feet in an instant. 

 

"What?!" The Co-Captain asks, not sure that he had heard correctly.

 

"You heard me," Marco mutters. "Mario got kidnapped." The words weigh heavily on his tongue, and if Miroslav keeps looking at him like that, Marco is going to end up crying.

 

André notices, and throws an arm around Marco's shoulders, trying to reassure him. Phillip enters, Miroslav whispers something into his ear, and the two of them seem to be processing the situation. Marco feels like he should feel grateful but instead he just feels _even more_ shitty, can't help himself because all he can do is think of Mario and worry for Mario and--

 

"Do you have any proof of the kidnapping?" Miroslav asks quietly, trying to be gentle.

 

Marco nods his head. "There was a bloodstain on his door, and, well...a package arrived this morning."

 

The locker room is silent as teammates dread the worse, and Mats blurts out, "Was it a hand? Or what?" And Bastian flicks him in the forehead, and Mats is quiet again. 

 

Marco, obviously uncomfortable, takes out the package, and fishes four pictures and a letter out of an envelope. He holds them all out to the team, and his face reddens because those photos are all of Mario and him, doing...things, and although the team already knows, it's not really Marco's favorite subject to talk about. Miroslav takes the photos and letter gently into his hands, and Marco watches as his cheeks color. Mats leans over, and his eyes widen to the size of footballs. Thomas leans over on Miroslav, Miroslav's cheeks slightly color a little more, and Thomas swallows hard and stares at anything but his Co-Captain's face right next to him. 

 

André's cough breaks the silence. 

 

"How do they even get those?!" He wonders, and so does everyone else.

 

"Goddamn Marco, how often do you get laid?" Mats blurts out, and points to the first picture, to Mario's legs wrapped around his waist. "Holy _shit_ man, by the pool?! Really?!" Mats points to the last picture, the one where Marco looks like he's about to just completely _eat_ Mario.

 

Marco doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to. Those were his private moments, and he really didn't want anyone seeing them. But he didn't have a choice. 

 

Miroslav's hands grip the letter rightly as he reads it out loud, voice slightly shaking. 

 

"Dear Die Mannschaft, perhaps you are reading this because I know for a fact that your dear Marco Reus would turn to his friends. Not his boyfriend, of course--you'll find that the photos contained with this are proof of something, if you don't know already. As you probably already know, I hold in my hands your little bird, Mario Götze. Your golden boot that will take you to the finals, and I have him in the palm of my hand. My request is simple! Simply throw your next game, and Mario will be back to you, safe and sound. If you do not, however...well, lets just say the fourth photo will tell everything you need to know."

 

Then Miroslav places the photo on a bench, and the locker room is dead silent, except for Marco's heavy breathing. 

 

It's a photo of Mario--bruised up and bloody and tied-up, unconscious, with a taser sticking out of his back. 

Marco can't look at it anymore, instead bends over and stumbles to the nearest trash can, and vomits. André's hand is immediately on his back, and the rest of the team stands up. After Marco finishes, and rinses his mouth, he turns around to find himself facing a room of very determined men.

 

"We're going to get him back," Phillip says, voice steady and powerful. 

 

"No matter what it takes," Miroslav adds.

 

Marco only stares at them, at the photographs, and thanks the heavens because his teammates don't even care that he's gay, don't even care about the other photographs--they just care about Mario's safety, and Marco's mental state.

 

*

 

When Marco arrives home, he flops on his couch and thinks about his choices. One, he can go with his team and lose the game, but no one wants to do that one. Two, he can go off with his team and rescue Mario altogether. And three, he could go, right now, and rescue Mario.

 

Marco's forehead creases. He didn't want to put anyone else in danger, especially when Mario was so close to death already. Marco's eyes turn to a photograph of him and Mario in front of his TV, and a fond memory comes to mind--it was back then, when they were barely getting familiar with each other, when Marco developed a crush on someone three years younger and so amazing and talented at the same time. Marco remembers how he felt then, like Mario was a treasure, and how Mario would complete him.

 

Now Marco stares at the photo, at Mario's face, tanned and young, at his smiling mouth--

 

Marco stares, gets up abruptly, and packs clothes and water and food into his bag, along with batteries and a first aid kit. He slings the bag over his shoulders, grabs his keys from the table, and walks out the door.

 

*

 

Mario is not okay. Mario thinks this, but he knows that he can't be okay without being okay, and he's not. His arms are numb, his legs are sore, and his body just wants to give in. 

 

He suffers humiliation and pain; the men taunt him and reads articles about Marco, ridicules Mario for his sexuality, and makes him eat his own meals with no hands. It's humiliating and horrible, and Mario just wants to explode. And then three times a day, they also swing by with a waste bucket, and then Mario is subjected to even more humiliation. 

 

All he wants is to be safe, but he also wants Marco to be safe. If he throws the game for Mario, Mario doesn't even care that he's saved, he cares more about the game than anything else. And apparently, so do these people. 

 

But just in a much more morbid way. 

 

As if hearing him, the men snicker, and divide their attention between laughing at photographs of Mario and Marco, and laughing at Mario himself. There's photos of them snuggling and cuddling and Marco holding him and Marco touching his cheek, and those moments are meant for their privacy--the fact that these people even have possession of those times makes Mario's blood boil. 

 

And then Mario hears footsteps, an angry voice, and the door bursts open.

 

The boss walks in, grabs Mario by the hair, and pulls up.

 

"Seems that your little friends don't want you alive," the man spits into Mario's face. "An interview with your fucking captain was just on, and he said they were going to win for sure."

 

Mario is silent.

 

"For _sure!_ They're going to have you die, and they're going to win. How do you feel about that, Götze?" The man pulls harder, and delivers a slap to Mario's face. Again, it's not hard enough to be painful, but still stings. 

 

"How do you feel, because Marco doesn't care?" 

 

Mario responds by spitting in the man's face, and the man drops his hair in a furious rage. Mario prepares himself for the blow that's coming, but instead, the man's cellphone rings, and Mario is forgotten.

 

"Speak," the man says. And then, "Who is this?!"

 

Mario hears a slight panic in his voice, and his curiosity shoots up immensely. 

 

"You wouldn't know where we are, you wouldn't," the man repeats into the phone. "And even if you did, it would be too late!" He hangs up, looks at Mario, and walks to the door. Before he exits, however, he looks straight in Mario's eyes and says, "you should be happy."

 

"Your little boyfriend is coming for you," the man says with a smirk. 

 

"And we're going to make him regret it."

 

*

 

Marco drives, doesn't know where, just drives and drives and drives somewhere, anywhere that might have a clue to where Mario was. Marco parks somewhere along the road, and suddenly sits up in a jolt when he remembers that Mario lost his iPhone once, and his information is still logged into Marco's. Swallowing hard, Marco pulls out his phone, and opens the application--and there it is.

 

Marco's phone beeps, and then, locates Mario's phone easily--in fact, he was actually quite close. The map showed a small building close to a series of old buildings. Marco knew exactly what he had to do, and he wasn't sure if he could make it in time. He can only hope that he makes it in time, and that Mario is okay.

 

*

 

Mario's staring at the ceiling when they bring him his food. The man shoves it to him roughly, and exits again. Mario sighs--he misses everyone. He really does; misses their locker room pranks and misses football and just really, really misses Marco. And then there are sounds outside, and Mario sits abruptly, paying attention to the commotion occurring outside. 

 

His eyes widen when he hears a familiar voice.

 

*

 

Marco finds the place easily--it's so painfully obvious but also subtle at the same time--you would only see it if you knew what you were looking for. And so Marco cautiously approached the house, and was greeted by a rather gruff looking teenager--the boy nods at Marco, as if expecting him, and lets him in. Marco eyes him as he slowly walks in the house, and, just as the door closes behind him, Marco's hand closes around the wrist of the guy keeping watch, and delivers a swift chop to the back of his neck. He falls to the floor with ease, and Marco swallows down his guilt as he walks inside.

 

It's a simple building; a straight hallway and a door at the end. Marco doesn't need a map to understand that that's the room that Mario's kept in, and so he inches forward--slowly--slowly--and three men jump seemingly out of nowhere, and stop him.

 

Marco feels his knife in his pocket, feels the heavy dread of using it. He doesn't want to, not when he has strong legs and fists. And so he waits for them to make the first move, watches then charge, and kicks the first one square in the chest. He falls and doesn't move.

 

The second one is harder--he has a fucking taser in his hand and Marco avoids it like the plague, uses a strong arm to knock the fucking thing out of his hand and then punches him straight in the jaw. As the man recoils, Marco aims for his chest, kicking as if he were kicking a football, on a penalty kick. He feels a crunch of bones beneath, and the man falls and twitches, but does not get up.

 

The third guy stands, fists barred up, and backs away quickly when Marco steps forward. Marco grabs him before he can run, and simply tosses him against the wall, where the man hits his head and falls, unconscious. Marco quickly runs for the room, rips open the door, and is speechless. 

 

There's nothing.

 

*

 

Mario hears Marco, can hear him so close--hears the door open, but not the right door. The building is a trap--what seems like an empty room is actually the bottom, and the real cell is on top--tugging on the lamp string draws a ladder, and then one can climb on top. But of course Marco doesn't know that. 

 

Mario kicks his food off him, hoping that the sound of plates crashing on the floor will give Marco a hint. He scoots his chair around and knocks his feet against the floor, so that Marco can hear him above. 

 

In a few moments, he hears the ladder move, and then hears steps up the stairs, and then, it's like a dream.

 

He sees wisps of blonde hair come into sight, stylish and parted to the side, and then there's Marco's face, cautious and dangerous until his eyes settles on Mario, and then Marco's eyes are wet and full of emotion and he just rushes to Mario, and hugs him tight, hugs him until he cannot breathe. And then Mario squirms, breaks into a sob, and presses his face closer to Marco's.

 

_He was safe again._

 

*

 

Marco fishes water out of his bag, grabs the knife and cuts Mario's bindings loose. He hands the water to Mario, and watches him drink and drink and drink like water is an extension of life--and then he just realizes what kind of condition Mario is truly in. Four days without proper rest and nutrition, and probably sleep--four days of torture. Mario looks thinner, looks tattered, and just looks like anything but he Mario that Marco knows.

 

And then Marco, already wanting to be home, silently grabs Mario's hand, and the two of them hurry outside, where they can finally return again. 

 

On the way home, Marco never notices the other car following them.

 

*

 

They arrive at Mario's home, and Marco carries Mario in--he shuts the door, and takes him to the bathroom, where he gives Mario a proper bath.

 

His hands massage tight muscles, rubbing soap around and lathering up strong limbs, and feels the rippling muscle beneath his fingers. Mario simply leans into every touch, and closes his eyes, and the two of them enjoy the silence. 

 

After the shower, Marco tucks Mario into bed, and they don't say anything. Marco doesn't want Mario to, and Mario doesn't want to, and so they just lay in bed together, Mario's head pressed against his chest, and Marco's hands tracing patterns into his back.

 

They sleep. 

 

*

 

A week later, everything is back to normal--no one asks how Mario came back, because Miroslav and Phillip both decided that Marco's course of action shouldn't be questioned. 

 

And Marco really, really appreciates that.

 

So of course no one also questions how Mario was rescued so easily--because quite frankly, he doesn't even know himself.

 

They win the game in question of course, and the team sighs with heavy relief when Thomas puts in a goal with an assist from Miroslav. It's a win, a beautiful win, and everyone wants to celebrate.

 

When the team exits the stadium, it all happens so fast--hooded figures slips by the guards, brandishes a taser and a knife, and aims for Mario--Marco takes the blow. He sees the man before anyone else does, doesn't have time to shove Mario out of the way, so he just steps in front and takes the hit, and it hits him square in the neck and near the back of his head, and he can't move anymore, he can't--

 

Everything goes blurry, and Marco falls to his knees, electricity running through his body from the taser and blood flowing from a stab wound in his middle.

 

The last thing he sees is Mario's face, full of worry, and Marco thinks that, as long is Mario is okay, he'll be okay with anything. He drinks in Mario's face, his smooth, tanned skin, his eyelashes, the freckles dusting his nose...

 

And Marco lets his eyes close, and drifts off.

 

*

 

Mario's with him in the hospital, he's been by Marco's side the entire time. It's about noon when the team stops by, and Mario appreciates their support. 

 

Mats lays a gentle hand on his back, and André pulls him into a hug. 

 

"It's gonna be okay," they say, and Mario hopes that it's going to be okay, too.

 

Marco's body lies still on the hospital bed, unmoving--only the slow rise and fall of his chest signals that he is alive. A large bandage is wrapped around his middle, and Mario gently takes hold of Marco's hand again. He holds it against his cheek, and, the gesture is strangely intimate, even for their relationship. Marco's fingers are long and sinewy, and Mario's cheeks color as he remembers how those fingers felt on him, and--

 

At that moment, he begins to stir, and his eyelids flutter open. Mario's heart gives a tight squeeze, and he leans forward to stare into Marco's eyes. 

 

"How are you feeling?" Mario whispers, and he's about to cry.

 

Marco is silent, and his eyes wander the room, and settle back on Mario's. His hand tightens in Mario's, and he tries to sit up a little. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens again. Everyone watches, eagerly waiting for their teammate to speak again. Marco finally gains balance, and turns his head slightly. 

 

"Hey," he says to Mario, and Mario inches closer. " _Who are you_?"

 

*

 

 

  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I swear it gets happier! Trust me, I'm crying for Mario too!


End file.
